Where I'm From A Tribute to the Colonel
by Lady Moe
Summary: You ask where I'm from? Well, then why do you care? I mean nothing to you and have no time to spare to spill out my heart like some soap opera freak to some random richie who asked me to speak.


I don't own Looking For Alaska

Wrote this for school and it came out just how I wanted it to.

* * *

Where I'm From- The Colonel's Poem

You ask where I'm from?

Well, then why do you care?

I mean nothing to you

And have no time to spare

To spill out my heart like some soap opera freak

To some random richie who asked me to speak.

But if I told you something,

I'd tell you a lot,

For I have a story

Believe it or not.

Though I may not be rich and I may not be tall,

I too have a past,

And as I wander these halls

My memory conjures this tale in my head.

I wish I could tell it,

But stand here instead,

'Cause to hear my life story? That sounds like a chore

And I don't really feel like becoming a bore.

But still you stand staring;

You don't seem to fear it.

This is your last warning

Or you're gonna hear it.

Okay! I give up!

Though the rich are my foe,

I'll make one exception.

Let me give this a go.

I come from a trailer

A few towns from here

And a woman who lives there.

Though our skies aren't to clear

And she lives there alone

And we don't have a lot,

Though there's only one room

And the cinder blocks rot,

I grew up in that place

And I sure love my mum.

Some don't care to admit it;

I'm sure not that some.

She raised me alone

Without help from my dad

(The laziest loafer

The world ever had.

The one thing Mom never

Was able to work

Was finding a husband

Who wasn't a jerk)

And I promise someday

That I will be the one

To somehow just thank her

That I am her son.

Now I sound like a sap,

(I knew that would happen)

And I know that that makes me

The joke of most men,

But I'm not gonna let that

Blow holes in my fun

And you're gonna listen

Until I am done!

I come from a boy

That I nicknamed myself,

Who piles his books

Upon our dorm room shelf.

Biographies stacked

With highlighter inside,

To mark the last phrases

Of those who have died.

Hey it's a weird hobby

But he's a weird kid;

Heck, he listens to me

Without flipping his lid.

I come from a girl

With a beautiful face

And a grin that would leave

Any guy in disgrace;

Yes, shockingly pretty

But dangerously cruel,

And whenever we argued

We'd wake the whole school.

Yes, we were poorly matched

But I find that I miss her

And sometimes I find myself

Longing to kiss her.

I come from a rapper

Who's one of my pals.

With his hardcore rhyming

He upsets the gals.

I act as beat-boxer,

But I'm not that good.

The Colonel sure doesn't

Drop beats like he should.

But my buddy don't care,

He just goes on slammin'.

With his fox hat on backwards,

He really gets rammin'.

I come from the little things in life;

Long smokes in the shower,

Ambrosia for strife,

Memorizing the atlas

Whenever I'm blue.

Just name any country,

And I'll tell you

Capital and Population

As quick as can be;

Working on natural features.

Between you and me

Though they're a bit harder

I promise for sure

I'll get 'em by Friday

'Cause my brain's in a stir.

I come from a person

As big as the skies

And deep like the ocean,

But my memory dies;

I struggle and fight

To remember her voice

Though I'd never forget her

If I had the choice.

The loss of a sunrise

And a good friend of mine;

The boys and I gather

With glasses of wine

And the thoughts in our heads

And the guilt in our hands;

Yes, we all could have saved her,

But none of our band

Could work up the courage

To grab for her hand.

I look to you now

But I see nothing here

But my guilt-filled reflection

In my gilt framed mirror.

It's been many years

And I no longer am

Caught in that stage

Between boy and man.

Well hear this reflection!

The past is the past;

Shut my eyes, take a breath

And struggle to cast

Away all my memories

And odd bittersweet

Moments and minutes and people I meet.

But this is a lost cause;

My memories won't budge,

So I reach for the phone

And begin to call Pudge.


End file.
